


The Company of Wolves

by inexplicifics



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Shapeshifters, Gen, Huddling For Warmth, Magic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-31
Updated: 2020-12-31
Packaged: 2021-03-11 05:55:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,302
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28460112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inexplicifics/pseuds/inexplicifics
Summary: Jaskier's been told all his life that the strange stone in the ring his mother gave him will lead him to his destiny.At the moment, it seems the only destiny it's led him to is that of freezing to death in a trackless forest.And then the wolves appear...
Relationships: Eskel & Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion & Lambert & Vesemir, Jaskier | Dandelion & Vesemir
Comments: 46
Kudos: 880
Collections: The Witcher Flash Fic Challenge Winter 2020





	The Company of Wolves

_The ring will lead you to your destiny_. What an absolute crock of shit.

Jaskier huddles a little closer to the tiny fire he’s managed to construct, tugging his coat more tightly around himself, and wonders if anyone will ever find his body. His coat felt so heavy and warm when he _bought_ it, fur-lined and ankle-length, much more than he’d ever need, he was so sure, and now it feels thin as paper as the wind comes whipping through the trees.

His fire flickers. Jaskier bites his lip, nearly numb with the cold, and tries to put himself between the fire and the wind, but the wind’s direction keeps changing, like some malevolent spirit is playing with him. His fingers are so cold they _hurt_ , even tucked into his armpits as they are, and his toes are starting to go numb. He’s going to die here, in this trackless wilderness, and the wild animals will eat his body, and no one will ever know what happened to him.

There’s a hint of movement across the clearing from him - white on white, fur against snow, catching the light of the full moon - and Jaskier peers through the driving flurries to see -

Ah. Joy. A wolf. Maybe it will start eating him _before_ he is dead. What fun that will be.

The wolf comes closer, slinking through the snowdrifts, golden eyes fixed on Jaskier. Jaskier watches it almost placidly. He doesn’t think he could grasp the hilt of his knife _anyway_ , and certainly he couldn’t kill a wolf, not half-frozen as he is. Probably not even if he _wasn’t_ so cold he can barely move.

The wolf pauses a few paces away, on the other side of the rapidly dying little fire, and looks at Jaskier for a long moment, head cocked on one side like it’s trying to figure out what he is and what he’s doing here. Jaskier watches it right back. It’s a very handsome animal, really, fur as white as the snow around it, eyes like molten gold, sleek and elegant in its motions. If he’s got to die at a wild animal’s claws and teeth, at least this one is quite pretty.

The wolf tilts its head back and howls, a long wavering eerie sound that would make all the hair on the back of Jaskier’s neck stand up if it wasn’t already doing so. From far away, over the endless whining of the wind, Jaskier can hear answering howls. The rest of the wolf’s pack. Joy.

The wolf steps forward, daintily skirting the fire, and nudges Jaskier hard. Jaskier, astonished, topples over backwards.

The wolf _huffs_. It sounds...exasperated, almost. It nudges him again, like it wants him to roll over - or maybe stand up. Jaskier isn’t sure he can, but - well - what can it hurt?

Slowly and painfully, he clambers to his feet. The wolf watches, whining when Jaskier nearly falls to his knees again. When he’s finally upright, it crowds in beside him, pressing against his leg. Its shoulder reaches his waist - it would be taller than he was if it stood on its hind legs. It’s a bulky animal, too, must be as heavy as Jaskier himself.

It looks up at Jaskier and then points its nose off in a direction which, as far as Jaskier can tell, is much like any other. Still, it’s better than sitting still and freezing...probably. Maybe the wolf is just bringing him back to its den so it can eat him in peace. Still, a den would be warmer, right?

Jaskier starts moving in the direction the wolf pointed, and the wolf stays right beside him, a comforting warm bulwark against the wind. He stumbles over a hidden branch about halfway across the clearing, and flings out his hands, and the wolf nudges under them, letting him brace himself on its back, standing still as stone until he’s got his balance back.

He’s fairly sure this is not normal wolf behavior.

He’s most of the way across the clearing, moving very slowly and wondering when his legs are going to give out under him, when the rest of the wolves arrive. There are three: a grey one with flecks of white hair on its muzzle, a positively _enormous_ brown one, even larger than the white one, and a red one that looks rather fluffier than the others.

The new wolves all give the white one what Jaskier thinks might be dubious looks - though he may well be assigning far too much emotion to _wolves_ \- and then the brown one huffs and comes over to Jaskier’s other side, and the grey and red wolves begin...breaking trail, is the only thing Jaskier can think to call it. They clear a path through the snow that’s far easier for Jaskier to follow than wading through drifts would be, and he starts making slightly better time. Sandwiched between two wolves, he even starts to warm up a little.

It’s still a long slog through the snowy forest, and by the time they get where they’re going - wherever that may be, Jaskier is so thoroughly lost that he wouldn’t even be able to tell if they were leading him in circles - he’s stumbling with weariness, resting most of his weight on the wolves beside him, eyes nearly shut and eyelashes crusted with ice.

The first he knows of their arrival is the sudden cessation of the wind. He stumbles and nearly goes to his knees at the shock, and only then notices that he’s standing on stone and not snow. The wolves’ den, it must be.

The white wolf huffs and takes another step forward, and Jaskier follows obediently, trudging forward into the darkness of the den. If they’ve brought him here to eat him, at least he might get to lie down first.

The tunnel curves, first left and then right - or at least the wolves lead him first left and then right, for all Jaskier can tell they’re just amusing themselves by making him walk in circles - and then the brown wolf steps away and the white wolf huffs again and eels around to nudge, hard, at Jaskier’s back. Jaskier topples forward, squeaking in surprise, and lands with a thump atop -

A pile of furs?

Jaskier lies there in confusion for a moment or two. He doesn’t think wolves generally have furs - soft and well-treated ones, no less - just lying around in their caves.

One of the wolves, he can’t tell which one, huffs again, and then a warm weight settles on his right, and another on his left, and a third drapes itself across his legs.

Jaskier really doesn’t mean to fall asleep, but he’s suddenly warm and he’s lying on something soft and he’s more exhausted than he’s ever been before in his _life_.

The last thing he thinks, before sleep rises up and engulfs him, is, _Huh, my ring is vibrating, that’s odd_.

*

Jaskier wakes up actually a little _over-_ warm, which is utterly astonishing. He’s lying on a heap of furs in a sort of hollow in the ground, so they form a sort of nest. Several of the furs have been piled on top of him, too, and his boots and coat have been removed, which is extremely confusing. Jaskier doesn’t remember taking them off, and as far as he knows, wolves are not skilled at removing clothing.

There’s also a fire going, somewhere out of his line of sight; the cave’s ceiling is painted with flickering shadows. He’s fairly sure wolves generally can’t light fires.

Jaskier sits up slowly, looking around in baffled amazement. He’s in a fairly large cave, about the size of the inside of a prosperous peasant’s cottage. There’s a fire built in a divot in the wall off to one side, with a crack in the roof above it to act as a sort of makeshift chimney; several haunches of venison hang above the fire to cure in the smoke. Around the other walls, rock has been chipped out to form shelves, and there are carved wooden cups and plates and spoons stacked neatly, and woven-reed baskets holding who knows what.

There’s an older man crouching in front of the fire, wrapped in a heavy grey wolf pelt, tending a heavy iron pot of something that smells amazing. He looks up and meets Jaskier’s eyes, and Jaskier’s jaw drops. His eyes are as golden as the wolves’ were.

“Huh, you’re up,” he says, and straightens. The wolf pelt is, in fact, the _only_ thing he’s wearing, and Jaskier is really quite glad he’s wearing it as a sort of kilt. “Pups thought it would take longer.”

“If you please, sir,” Jaskier says slowly, “where am I, who are you, and what is going on?”

“You’re home, and I’m Vesemir,” the old man says. He’s very well-muscled for his age, and there are a great many extremely dramatic scars crisscrossing his torso and arms, and what Jaskier can see of his legs.

“What?”

“Soup?” Vesemir offers.

“...Yes, please,” Jaskier says, deciding to leave the mystery for later, because the soup smells _very_ good. The old man fills him a bowl and brings it over, and Jaskier sips at the broth and sighs in delight. It’s rich and salty and delicious.

He’s just finishing when there’s a commotion from the cave’s entrance, and three more men come in, dragging a pair of enormous deer between them. The leader has hair as white as moonlight; to his right is a rather bulkier man with brown hair, and to his left a slightly leaner man with red hair. They are all wearing nothing but wolf pelts slung over their shoulders; they are all incredibly well-muscled, and covered in long-healed scars, just as the older man is. They all startle when they see Jaskier, and Jaskier puts the bowl down hastily and claps his hands over his eyes, thinking a little wildly that the carpets _definitely_ match the drapes on all of them.

“Oh hey, he’s up,” one of them says. “Still got all your fingers and toes, then?”

Jaskier hadn’t even thought to worry about that. He wiggles his toes - they all still feel attached - and then tugs off his gloves to check on his fingers.

All four men suck in their breaths with sharp hisses. Jaskier looks up to see that the three newcomers have - thank goodness - wrapped their wolf pelts around their hips like kilts, and also they are all staring at the ring on his right hand like - well - like wolves sighting their prey.

“...What’s going on, please?” Jaskier asks warily.

“Go butcher those outside, boys,” Vesemir says, shooing the three younger men like they’re chickens. “I’ll explain.”

“...Yes, Vesemir,” the men chorus, and go out again, dragging their elk behind them.

Vesemir comes over and sits on the edge of the hollow in the floor, not quite entering it. “So, that ring.”

“The mage who gave it to my mother said it would lead her child to his destiny,” Jaskier says.

“And so it has,” Vesemir agrees. “Hm. We haven’t had a wolfstone come home in a while.”

“Wolfstone?” Jaskier eyes the stone in his ring - it’s dark, but he’s always seen little specks of light in it, like stars or flecks of gold.

“It’s only found in these mountains,” Vesemir says. “Deep in the caverns, where no one but the wolves dare go. We don’t mine it, but sometimes when we go to check, there’s a piece fallen; we polish it and send it out into the world with the traveling merchants. When it comes home to us, it is always worn by one who is suited to one -” he hesitates - “one or more than one of us.”

“Suited,” Jaskier says blankly.

“In temperament,” Vesemir says. “We grow lonely, here in the mountains; we grow too like our other selves. We need someone human, to remind us of our own humanity.”

“So I’m...a captive?” Jaskier ventures.

“Not at all,” Vesemir says at once. “I would advise you to stay the winter - traveling in this weather is not wise - but if you wish to leave, we will lead you to the nearest town and see you on your way with our blessings. We keep no one who does not wish to stay.”

“Oh,” Jaskier says, and glances around the cavern. “Is it...just the four of you?”

Vesemir shakes his head. “During the winter, we spread out through the forest, dwelling in little dens like these so that we can find lost travelers or other trouble. In the summer, we gather at our keep; there are three or four dozen of us in total. But as you found _us_ , my little pack, I expect your stone is meant to lead you to...at least one of my sons.”

“I see,” Jaskier says, and considers all of that for a while. “Well. I have a great many questions left, as you might expect, but - well - I could stay the winter, I suppose, and see if I and any of your sons...suit.”

Vesemir smiles. “You would be more than welcome,” he says, and raises his voice - not much, just enough to project a bit. “Boys! Stop eavesdropping and come in.”

The three younger men file back in, all looking rather sheepish. “My sons,” Vesemir says, waving at them each in turn. “Geralt, Eskel, and Lambert. And you, wolfstone-called?”

Jaskier smiles up at the hopeful expressions on three scarred, handsome faces. “Technically my name is Julian Alfred Pankratz, but I prefer to be called Jaskier. It is a very unexpected pleasure to meet you all.”

He earns three slow, wolfish, absolutely astonishing smiles in reply.

Maybe following his ring to find his destiny wasn’t such a foolish idea after all.


End file.
